It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

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Maybe looming defense cuts mean U.S. has to quit invading countries
Unexpected phone call can turn world from happy to miserable
Intelligent, well-meaning people often pull in opposite directions
Do they allow dogs at the hotel? Question is why they allow people
Death of stranger’s dog reminds me how much dogs mean to us
End of life brought cancer patient to baptism six days before death
Why are killing, maiming people elsewhere called moral, ‘legal’?